by D. C. Gomez
Bob dropped the magazine, checked the chamber, and put the gun back together. “It’s like riding a bike.”
I smiled. Bob was ready.
“OK, so where are the rest?” I looked around, waiting for more witches to pop out of the air. We had less than five minutes before sunset.
“They went to set up something inside the post office. They were running late, so that one was supposed to prep us or something.” The three of us looked at Lily while Bob talked. “To answer your question, Bartholomew, I stopped eating the food they gave us. Once I realized it knocked us out, I stopped eating. Nobody else listened.” Bob looked around, distraught.
“Comatose people are going to make traveling a lot harder than I expected.” This was not part of the plan. Why couldn’t our plans just go smoothly?
“How about the van? We can take them out the same way they brought them in.” Bartholomew was looking at us expectantly.
“Bart, you’re a genius. OK, let’s get them in. We need to be out of here now.” I was so happy to have Bartholomew there.
Bob, Bartholomew, and I piled bodies in the van. For the first time, I was happy the van was around. It had no seats, so we just laid the poor people on top of one another. There was no way of making them comfortable. At this point, I didn’t care. We got the last person in the van.
“Oh, Isis, we got company.” Bartholomew was looking at the post office. The remainder of the coven was heading our way. Bob and I stuck our heads out of the van.
“You again! Where is my sister?”
Oh, great. Evil Angry Rose was back, leading her psycho coven.
“Kill them.”
I grabbed Bartholomew by his gear and pulled him inside. “Get in here, Bart. Time to go. Bob, drive. Guess we’re not going the same way we came.”
Bob climbed into the driver seat.
I got in the passenger seat.
“Isis, where to?” Bob was searching for the keys.
I opened fire on the witches from the passenger window. They were not expecting that. Luckily, two went down. That, unfortunately, made the others mad, and they started throwing spells. They cracked the windshield. Bob found the keys in the cup holder. I guess they weren’t expecting their van to get stolen. Bob started the van, and I kicked the windshield out. We couldn’t see anything anyways.
“Saint Edward’s. There’s a gate there.”
Bob didn’t need directions. I opened fire on the group.
Bob made a U-turn on the street and peeled out. Traffic laws and regulations were nonexistent there, so he gunned it. Bartholomew opened the van door and started throwing grenades. That really made them jump.
Chapter 36
The speed limit in Texarkana, for the most part, was forty miles per hour. In purgatory Bob was going at least eighty. Saint Edward’s was less than half a mile from the post office. We took Seventh Street toward Saint Edward’s as fast as the van could handle it. Bob slowed down to take the right onto Beech Street. We were still going too fast for that turn. The van was on two wheels, and I was afraid we were going to flip.
“Too fast. Wow. Is everyone OK?” Bob was not slowing down as he spoke. I was grateful Bartholomew had closed the back door.
“Still here,” Bartholomew said from the back. When I looked his way, he had fallen on his butt from the turn. I was holding on to the door handle for dear life.
“We got company.” The witches were making their way to the church from Fifth Street. “They don’t look happy,” I told the boys.
There were three of them riding Harleys, and they at least had wands pointed at us. With the windshield gone, I used the edge of the window frame to hold my M16 for stability. With Bob driving like a madman, I didn’t want to accidentally shoot us instead. I laid down suppressive fire. Those bikes were fast, and all three scattered.
“Isis, where is that gate? I don’t see anything.”
I looked at the church grounds and couldn’t see it either. I was praying I wouldn’t have to use the sight there as well.
“Head toward the grounds. It’s somewhere on the campus.”
Bob nodded and decided to go through Beech Street Church’s parking lot. The witches were coming from both sides.
“Everyone, hold on tight.” That was the only warning Bob gave us. He used the van as a battering ram and slammed into the witch on our right. Mental note: bike against van, the bike will always lose. Not a pretty sight.
“Ouch. She’s going to feel that. I felt it.” Bartholomew was a great backseat driver. I just shook my head.
We made it across the street as one of the witches blasted a spell at us. It hit the side of the van behind the driver seat. We now had a large hole.
“Bart, are you OK?” That was way too close to him for my taste.
“I’m good back here. Now I have an opening.” Before I could tell him to keep his head down, he opened fire.
I guessed his video games were really good training, because Bartholomew had pretty good aim. He kept the remaining two witches zigzagging and unable to fire back. Bob pulled into Saint Edward’s parking lot. We were looking around frantically for the gate. The witches were getting closer. From the driveway behind the church, a woman appeared. It was the lady in the green dress from confession.
She rushed to my window. “Isis, hurry. You need to get out.”
“We’re trying, but we can’t find the door.”
“Around the building, the door on the side of the rectory. Hurry. Once you go through, we’ll hold the door. We can keep them out at least for a few minutes to buy you some time. Hurry.”
“Thank you. I’ll pray for you.” I reached over and grabbed her hands. They were freezing.
“I know you will.” She squeezed my hand and winked.
I was surprised when I realized I meant it.
“Bob, hurry around the church, toward the priest’s house.” I pointed to the driveway.
Bob was a great soldier. He didn’t need to be told twice. He took the van around the church. Bartholomew was still firing at the witches. I wasn’t sure how many rounds he was carrying, but he kept shooting. We were on the other side of the church. The rectory, the house for the priest, was behind the church. Bob made his way around the driveway.
“Isis, please tell me you’re kidding.” Bob looked at me in horror.
“Oh God, there is nothing easy here. Bob, get us through that gate.” I had no words of encouragement for Bob. If we stayed, we would die. The gate was the back door of the rectory. A faint light radiated around it.
“Hold on, everyone.” Bob hit the gas, and Bartholomew and I screamed.
I’ve seen those videos where they tell drivers to relax during car crashes to minimize the impact. I’ve never met a person who followed that advice, unless they were drunks. Drunks were the only people who survived bad crashes. They were so limber, they were almost like Gumby. I did completely the opposite. My entire body tensed, and I closed my eyes. If we were going to die, I didn’t want to see it coming. I felt the surge of energy when we crossed the threshold, as the three of us screamed.
“Oh, wow, that was amazing.” I opened my eyes, and Bob was doing a happy dance next to me. We were in the middle of Beech Street, in front of the church facing Fifth Street.
“Isis. Bartholomew. Where are you?” We were back on earth, and Constantine was back on.
“Constantine, we’re in front of Saint Ed’s.” I had no idea how we were on the street, but I didn’t care.
“Finally. Everything was dead for almost thirty minutes, and then I heard you scream.” Constantine was talking pretty fast.
“Thirty minutes? Are you sure? We were gone less than ten.” That didn’t make any sense.
“Time is an earth concept. It doesn’t work the same in other realms. Anyways, what are you doing over there? You need to get back to the post office. I got you backup.” Constantine sounded way too proud of himself. I was praying he didn’t have any more ninja cats waiting for us.
“Isis, who are you talking to?” Bob was eyeing me cautiously. I had forgotten he didn’t have an earpiece.
“Sorry, Bob. Talking to our guardian. We need to head back to the post office, quickly.” I was looking around for more angry witches.
“You have a guardian now?” At least he started the van as he spoke.
“We both do. His name is Constantine, and he’s a five-thousand-year-old talking cat. Whatever you do, don’t call him kitty. He’ll poke your eyes out.” Bartholomew had moved up to explain things to Bob.
“Of course you have a talking cat that serves as your guardian,” Bob said very matter-of-factly, without an ounce of sarcasm in his voice.
“Isis, either he’s taking this really well, or he’s having a mental breakdown,” Bartholomew tried to whisper to me, not very well.
“Bart, you do know I can hear you. After everything I’ve seen this week, I’m ready to believe in aliens.” Bob was glancing at Bartholomew as he drove down Fifth Street.
“Definitely breakdown. Too much to handle all at once.” Bartholomew was looking at Bob, fairly concerned.
“Nobody is having a breakdown here. Not till we find a safe place for these people and lose those witches. Got it?” It was my turn to glare at the boys. They both nodded quietly. “Good. Now keep an eye out for those witches.”
“Do you think they followed us?” Bob was looking around everywhere.
“We have their precious cargo. They’re going to want them back. Not to mention they’re running out of time.” It was the magic hour, as photographers called it—when the sun had set but you still had enough light to give pictures a dreamlike quality.
The streets were still deserted, but it wouldn’t last. We needed to hurry. Bob was making sure not to draw too much attention to us. Not sure why he bothered; we were missing the windshield and had a giant hole in the back. We were less than a block away when the first witch appeared in front of us on Walnut Street. I opened fire. Shoot first; ask questions later. She raised her arm, and a shield blocked the bullets. Bob didn’t need any instructions. He took a quick right to avoid the witch.
“How did they beat us here?” Bob was looking around, confused.
“They couldn’t get through Saint Ed’s, so they probably went back to their door. Be careful, Bob. They could be anywhere.” With our luck, we could be heading straight for them.
Bob made a quick left on Sixth Street. The post office was straight ahead. Bob took off at top speed. I was praying he was paying attention to any weird movement. We were expecting a frontal attack. We were taken by surprise when the back door of the van blew up. The hit lifted the van at least three feet in the air. Bob hit the brakes right in front of the stop sign across from the post office. Before he could take off again, a witch jumped inside the van.
“This ends now, children.” Unlike all the other ones we had seen, this one looked as if she was in her forties and getting older by the minute. Her hair was turning white as she walked in the van. She raised her wand at us.
Bartholomew, a lot quicker than I was, threw his club at her. She dodged it but was not prepared for Bartholomew tackling her. For an eleven-year-old boy, he was pretty strong. They were out the back door and rolling on the street.
“Bob, get to Union Station. The cops are there. Find Officer Smith and tell him we need backup. We’ll keep them off you.” There was no way in hell I was leaving Bartholomew alone.
“Isis, I won’t leave you guys.” Bob looked conflicted.
“Bob, drop them off and then come back for us. But you need to get those people to safety. Now.” Leaving the M16 with Bob, I jumped out of the van to the craziest scene of my life. Until recently I had never been in a fight. Now I was shooting at people and getting my butt kicked at least once before bedtime. If today was my day, I was going to make it count. I prayed Death would explain things to my godmother if this went bad.
Chapter 37
Two witches were blocking Bob’s path, and he opened fire. The witches jumped out of his way. Bob hit the gas. I saw him take State Line going at least fifty. I had no idea that van could move that fast. I was impressed; the old man was driving as if he had stolen that thing.
Two witches climbed on their bikes to chase Bob. I pulled out my 9mm Smith & Wesson Special and fired at the tires. The witches probably had shields, but I was betting their bikes didn’t. I blew up the tires on one bike and accidentally blew up the gas tank on the other. That bike went up in flames like a Fourth of July fireworks display. If people hadn’t known before that something was going on downtown, they did now. One witch was on the ground doing a poor imitation of the drop-and-roll drill. Her friend was trying to assist, but it looked as if she was making things worse.
By the time I reached Bartholomew, he had the witch in a headlock. Those lessons with Eric were really paying off. He was trying to cut her air supply and knock her out. She was way too big for him and was shaking around like a wild snake. I rushed to help and kicked her on the side. That slowed her down. Bartholomew managed to knock her out, but we were running out of time. The rest of her coven was back, and they looked as if they were ready for blood. Once they realized they had lost their hostage, Bartholomew and I were going to pay for it.
“Bart! Bart!”
He was too busy with the witch to pay attention to me.
“Bartholomew, we need to take cover. Now!” I had to pull him off the witch. “Let’s go, Bart; she is not moving.”
Bartholomew and I ran down Sixth Street toward the post office. The two witches who had been blocking Bob were nowhere to be seen. We passed the fountain, and it was in pieces and in flames. The thing looked as if it had gotten hit by a missile. All that was left was a large crater and burning bushes. Normally, I was the one responsible for huge disasters. I had had nothing to do with this one.
“Constantine, what happened to the fountain?” Bartholomew asked as we ran past it.
“Constantine, a.k.a. the Terminator, happened to it.” War had a horrible effect on Constantine. He was losing his mind and was proud about it.
“Why?” I was confused. What had that poor fountain done to Constantine?
“Once those witches came out, I decided we needed to stop them from going back in. So the fountain had to go.”
I was speechless. Constantine was serious.
“Constantine, why didn’t you just break the spell or something less drastic? You know that fountain was city property. Do we have to pay for that thing?” Honestly, my team really did not believe there was such a thing as overkill.
“Isis, how was I supposed to break the spell from here? Remember, all I have is a drone. Blowing up the fountain broke their circle. Mission accomplished, so bombs away. No fountain, no more portal. We have insurance. We’re covered.”
There was no hope for Constantine. I had a feeling we didn’t have State Farm. Massive city destruction was probably not covered.
As Constantine recounted his victorious campaign, Bartholomew and I took cover behind a truck parked in front of the Firestone Tire Center. I prayed the owner was nowhere nearby. At the rate we were going, this baby was probably going up in flames as well. Our truck was behind the post office. There was no place to hide. This stupid intersection had so much empty space, it reminded me of the Wild West. All we needed was tumbleweeds to roll by, and we would have the perfect setting for a shootout.
“Isis, I have one clip left.” Bartholomew had taken inventory of his ammunition. He had a gash on his cheek and blood running down his arms. I grabbed his arm, trying to discern the level of damage. “Don’t worry; it’s not mine. I might be bruised, but nothing is broken.”
“I’m glad. After everything we’ve been through, you can’t die on me now.” I smiled as I spoke. I checked my gear as well. “I have two clips left. Constantine, where’s the backup?”
“On its way. Don’t worry. Are you two OK?”
I was going to strangle that cat if we made it through this. “For now. Can�
��t guarantee we’ll last long. So you’d better hurry. Those witches want our heads on silver platters.” I peeked around the corner of the truck, and the witches were gathered across the street. It really was an old-style shootout.
“Now, children, if you give up now, we will make your deaths quick.” Rose was speaking. How bad do you have to be in order to be the head witch of a murderous coven?
“Yeah, right. We have a better plan. How about you ladies give up, and nobody else gets hurt? How about that?” Who said I couldn’t be a negotiator? I had this bantering thing down.
Bart looked at me, surprised. I shrugged.
“Give up? To you two? Please. You are outnumbered, and even your friend abandoned you. Now, why would you drag this out any longer?” Rose looked overly confident in her own powers. “Nobody is here to help you.”
“Boss, I want their eyes. Make them suffer.”
That sounded awful. I leaned over to better see the discussions the witches were having. Dear Natalie, my favorite two-by-four-wielding psycho, was talking. She had two patches over her eyes, and she looked terrifying. Why was it OK for the bad guys to want us dead, but we couldn’t shoot at them first? Double standards were killing me. We needed a new manual with better rules, or a less dangerous job.
“Hey, lady, I didn’t gouge your eyes out. Maybe if you stopped pissing off the souls, they wouldn’t hate you as much!” I yelled.
“Isis, why are you antagonizing them? It’s not like we have that much ammunition left.” Bartholomew was looking at me, very skeptical.
“Trying to buy Constantine’s backup some time. Besides, I really don’t like them. If we have to go down, we are not begging.” I looked around at the witches, hoping a plan would appear. They were not looking any happier.
“In that case, I’m all in.” Bartholomew looked at me with a wicked smile. He loaded his gun and was ready for a fight.
“Now, children, do you honestly think you made any difference tonight? You will die. It’s up to you how much you suffer. Let’s make this quick. We are now on a tight schedule.”